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<title>what kind of future by ansutazu</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195731">what kind of future</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ansutazu/pseuds/ansutazu'>ansutazu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kagerou Project, Mekakucity Actors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:47:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ansutazu/pseuds/ansutazu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what kind of future is the right one for us? // a shinaya one-shot.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kisaragi Shintaro &amp; Tateyama Ayano, Kisaragi Shintaro/Tateyama Ayano</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what kind of future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>as if nothing happened<br/>
i told myself that this is all a dream<br/>
when i close my eyes and open them again<br/>
i wanted to wake up with a relief.</em><br/>
<b> <em>now playing: habit</em> </b> </span> <b></b></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he hates that he’s aware that this is a dream, that this is a subconscious fantasy his brain wires himself to go through night after night. he hates that the picturesque sunset that he sees through the window is a figment of his imagination. he hates that he’s not really here, that the empty chairs and empty tables are a result of hallucinations in his sleep. he hates that it isn’t his reality — he hates that <em>she </em>isn’t in his reality.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">shintaro’s fingers curl into fists on his desk, the voice too painfully familiar. it hurts, it <em>hurts </em>to hear it every night in his dreams, in old videos, in the recollections that put him in such desperation to even remember.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">but even through all this trouble, the figure in his dreams still manages to <em>care</em>. she still manages to be as kind and as nurturing as she was in reality. it’s what haunts him the most — that even now, he’s given undeserved kindness.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“why do you always show up?” it’s not like him to think out loud. he faces her, stares into her brown eyes for a bit before they get dizzying. he focuses on the red clips in her hair, her middle school uniform, that <em>red scarf </em>—</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“because you want me to.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…that was a rhetorical question.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“but you waited for my answer.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he misses this type of back of forth, but the simplicity of their banter is laced with the complication of their secrets — and so how much of this is honest?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he hates that even in his dreams, he can’t bear being <em>honest</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“i have a question.” her smile crosses her lips no matter the iteration; it’s mesmerizing. it’s so blinding that he can’t say a word of affirmation, an objection, anything. “will you write me a requiem?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…a what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“you know what it means, don’t you?” her tone is cheeky — why? “a song for the dead.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“you’re not — ”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“i am, shintaro. i am.” she pauses, suspending shintaro in his disbelief, his denial. “you don’t even say my name anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“then i’ll say it.” he wants to swallow his pride for just a minute, just this once, because it <em>stings</em>. he doesn’t want to believe it — he does in his waking moments, but begrudgingly. he doesn’t know how someone can die when they’re <em>right there</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">and so, out of habit, he lets those syllables roll of his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“ayano.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">his eyes open — his reality. he’s in his dim room of two years; the trash can threatens to flood the floors with crumpled papers and soda cans, a chair acting as noah’s ark for his haphazardly folded clothes. he lets out a sigh not out of relief, but of frustration. he lets go of his tight grip on his bedsheets, staring at his ceiling for god knows how long.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">a requiem — of course he knows what that is. there’s one sitting in his computer right now.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">its working title is ‘transparent answer’.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>our future that isn’t lining up<br/>
if i can go back in time<br/>
rather than roughly, but warmly<br/>
would i be able to let you go?<br/>
</em> <b> <em>now playing: i don’t know</em> </b> </span> <b></b></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“you seem awfully antsy.” shintaro fans himself on the face, heating up awfully in the scorching summer heat. they’d just gotten out of their last class, ayano tagging along with shintaro on their way home as always. it was never really established, but…he lets her. “we’re on <em>summer break</em>. won’t you have time to play with the kids like you talked about?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“well…” ayano sighs, handing shintaro a slip of paper.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he opens it, and —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“oh my <em>god</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“how do you manage to score <em>seventeen percent</em>?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“math is <em>hard</em>.” ayano huffs, crossing her arms. she looks determined for a second before she completely deflates. she blows air out of her mouth, bangs not confined by her red clips dancing rather cutely. “anyway, i have to take supplementary summer classes. it’s funny, huh? my dad works at the high school and yet…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">now admittedly, shintaro does not know what supplementary classes are — never needed them, probably never will. he struggles with what to say, rakes his brain for a suitable answer, but…nothing.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">his hand waivers a bit before he finds it raising up, up, up…and back down onto ayano’s shoulders. she jumps at the touch, and so does he — <em>i don’t know, it was unconscious, why’re looking at me?!</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">her cheeks are tinted red. it matches the scarf she’s probably sweating under.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“um…” he pats her shoulder slowly, trying to come up with an excuse, <em>anything </em>— that was <em>not </em>his doing. yes, his hand is attached to his body, it’s <em>his </em>hand, but…it’s those rare instances where the brain lets instincts take over.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(<em>but why was it an instinct…god, i don’t know.</em>)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…well, you’ll get the material this time around.” nice. doesn’t sound condescending <em>at all</em> — god, shintaro, you’re completely tactless.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">she smiles though, probably out of pity. “aha…you’re right. thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“when does it start?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“summer school?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“mm…the eighth.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“how long does it last?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“a week.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“so…the fifteenth.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“huh?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“the fifteenth is when it ends.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“oh…yeah.” ayano blinks, tilting her head. “yeah, why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“well…i guess…to congratulate you on getting through it…me, you, takane, and haruka could like…hang out or something.” he shrugs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“are…are you serious?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…yeah, why not. i have nothing better to do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">she smiles. “the fifteenth then. i look forward to it!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">shintaro takes his hand off her shoulder — god, it’s been there for that long? awkward.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>when we weren’t over<br/>
as i held not whatever was left<br/>
you let go of me as i refused<br/>
although i don’t want to see you, i miss you<br/>
i don’t understand myself as well<br/>
</em> </span> <span class="s1"> <b> <em>now playing: lie again</em> </b> </span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">when the school gets news of her death, they put flowers on her desk as well as a picture of her. it sadly doesn’t do her any justice; she shines brighter in real life.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">his classmates are baffled — ‘she seemed so happy’, they’d say, ‘so why would she kill herself?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he doesn’t have the answer for that. for the first time in his life, he can’t piece together the logic in it. there’s nothing that connects. it’s just…there.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">and it terrifies him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he realizes that he didn’t know her <em>at all</em>. all those years of her clinging onto him, and he just…doesn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he’s said some wrong things — now he can’t right them. it’s so shameful. it feels so dirty.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">his classmates ask if they were friends, friends in a way that understood each other. they’re prying him for information about her — he doesn’t like it. he doesn’t like it because…he can’t lie again. he can’t say that it’s not the case.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he didn’t know her. end of story.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“you two were friends, right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…not really.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>this waiting, it’s not easy to endure<br/>
if i forget some day<br/>
as if nothing is wrong<br/>
our future will be empty and sad<br/>
it’s not that i want to forget you<br/>
</em> </span> <span class="s1"> <b> <em>now playing: don’t listen</em> </b> </span> <b></b></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“so have you written it yet?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“my requiem.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he doesn’t get she’s so persistent even in his dreams. then again, that’s how he remembers her. pushing, pushing, <em>pushing</em> — the only time she pulls in her direction is when she insists on being pushy.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">her grin is that of the cheshire cat’s, wide and cheeky. the way she has her face in her hands squishes her cheeks — now is not the time, shintaro.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“it’s not finished.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“so you <em>did </em>make one!” she <em>laughs</em>. even as a part of her imagination in which he can will whatever he wants…he doesn’t understand her. he doesn’t know what to make of her actions. she’s her own person in his mind. it’s like she isn’t a <em>part </em>of his dreams — she’s alive in them. this phenomenon that he can’t describe…it’s so bizarre.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">she wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes, collecting herself with one swoop. she nods, seemingly pleased with the situation. “thank you. i’m glad i have one. i was hoping not to be forgotten.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“of course you wouldn’t be!” his voice is louder than usual, his words are not properly pieced together — it’s his instincts again. “<em>i </em>don’t want to forget you!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">and silence.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">a confession…sort of. (<em>see what happens when you don’t listen to your brain?</em>) shintaro clears his throat, the admission of ayano haunting him every day of his life…is it pathetic? is it heroic, the word she said almost every minute of her life? it’s true, and there’s no denying he sees her every night when he closes his eyes, but…he doesn’t think of <em>why</em> he does. is the why important?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">ayano doesn’t press any further. “if it’s just you…then i’m okay with that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">he wakes up before he can embarrass himself even further.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>the feelings that we shared<br/>
as they piled up one by one, we were happy<br/>
you, who isn’t with me anymore<br/>
although i don’t want to see you, i miss you<br/>
although i hate you, i miss you<br/>
i don’t understand myself as well<br/>
</em> </span> <span class="s1"> <b> <em>now playing: fallin’ flower</em> </b> </span> <b></b></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“i read something cool today.” ayano says, scooting closer to shintaro, leaving no space for the crisp spring breeze to squeeze between them. it’s a distance that makes shintaro’s heart flutter — he doesn’t know if he likes that or not. her face is so, so close to his, but he can only wait for her follow-up.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“see that?” ayano points to the cherry blossom trees in getting ready to bloom down below. they were on the school’s rooftop as her takane’s suggestion to check it out (read: she was so embarrassed about having said something mildly flirty to haruka that she couldn’t have the freshmen in the room). “cherry blossom petals fall five centimeters a second.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“ah.” shintaro nods. he thinks he’s seen that movie before, but he doesn’t say anything so as to damper ayano’s spirits.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“i think that…those petals, they bloom and they fall, right? they bloom for us to see, fall for us to see…being a falling flower seems to be a difficult job.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“you’re not making sense.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“have you ever been to a cherry blossom festival?” ayano asks.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“do i look like the type of person to go?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…right.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“let’s go to one!” ayano’s cheerfulness is on unusually exuberant today. “there’s one on the weekend. that’s when people say the cherry blossoms will bloom. since you haven’t been to one, what about now?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">it’s hard to say no when she seems so excited. “okay. sure.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">why does going somewhere with her feel so…nice? why does he want to treasure the smile she gave him when he agreed?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">now that he thought about it, moments like these, moments of warmth…they’ve been piling up. they’ve existed within him for a while. they’re especially moments of <em>her</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">is it greedy of him to want more?</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>what kind of future is the right one for us?<br/>
heaven isn’t giving us an answer<br/>
or perhaps it’s because i’m too stupid<br/>
but i don’t know the answer<br/>
</em> </span> <span class="s1"> <b> <em>now playing: what kind of future</em> </b> </span> <b></b></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“so what comes next?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“i don’t know.” ayano chuckles, playing with a loose thread on her white summer dress. her scarf is no more; she’s back once more. it’s a surreal experience, an adventurous summer…but shintaro won’t let himself be hindered. she’s <em>here</em>. “it seems as if my things never go according to plan. i think…what kind of future we end up getting is a spontaneous one.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“okay. then…” shintaro pulls out his phone and his earbuds. “listen to this.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“what is it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“your requiem. well, since you’re back…it’s just a song now. it’s a song for you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p3"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow okay um...so. see how i haven't written for a while<br/>yeah i don't know what i'm doing so sorry it's all over the place. it doesn't even make sense<br/>i just wanted to use this song like this</p>
<p>translation <a href="https://twitter.com/17_HAMZZI/status/1058708984780050433">here</a>.<br/>stream fallin' flower</p></blockquote></div></div>
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